


Divisions

by Jean_Lightfoot



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: M/M, Mindfuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2018-01-27 19:26:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1719881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jean_Lightfoot/pseuds/Jean_Lightfoot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During and Post-“The Enemy Within”.  Forced away from Janice Rand, wolf Kirk’s next encounter is with Spock...  Originally published in July 2007 in the print fanzine “Dark Fire” # 2.</p><p>Beta by Muriel_Perun</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Spock had already stepped into the turbolift when he heard the captain approaching. Humans betrayed their emotions in so many different ways. The hurried sound of Kirk’s boots impacting the deck conveyed a tighter, more agitated mood than the captain’s usual confident stride.

Spock ordered the door to stay open. Kirk strode in, his face flushed red. He planted his feet squarely in the center of the chamber, and grinned at his First Officer. “Deck Five.”

Spock caught his breath, too late. The reek of ethyl alcohol and the stink of human sexual arousal had already coated his lungs. The Captain was hugely erect, the tight black trousers straining to contain his turgid sexual organ.

Spock did not permit his gaze to linger on Kirk’s crotch. After a fraction of a second he refocused his attention on Kirk’s face. Something was clearly wrong. Kirk’s well-formed lips were puffy, swollen; his skin was damp with sweat.

He had observed that human sexual arousal could occur in the most illogical situations. Kirk’s agitation could merely be worry over the plight of Lt. Sulu and the other crewmembers stranded on Alpha 177. Kirk had only been on board the Enterprise for a short period of time. These physical manifestations might be previously unobserved variables in his behavior patterns.

Now… Spock took a deeper breath, and became aware of the complexity of odors beneath the dominant alcohol and musk. There—the chemical smell of synth-skin, and the undernote of iron: human blood. There was an odd discoloration on his face. Spock focused—and, yes, he could see where synthskin had been hastily applied to conceal and heal some minor injury.

McCoy had earlier come to him to express his concerns about the captain’s behavior—specifically Kirk’s aggressive demand for brandy. On his visit to Kirk’s cabin, Kirk had allayed these concerns with the suggestion that McCoy had “been putting him on again”. Spock had dismissed McCoy’s words in the light of Kirk’s obvious sobriety and calm demeanor.

Here was a dichotomy: the man before him was saturated in alcohol. And yet, he _was_ Kirk: Spock’s every sense—sight, hearing, scent—assured him of that fact.

Concern—he wouldn’t label it _fear_ —jolted through him. Despite his certainty that Kirk would not welcome intrusive questions, he felt impelled to speak. “Captain, may I inquire if you need assistance of any kind. I—”

“Assistance?” Kirk laughed. Fierce emotion ignited in his eyes. “You most certainly _can_ assist me. Turbolift, halt and lock.” Kirk was suddenly in his face, closing the gap between them in less than a heartbeat’s time.

Spock stepped back. He had recently been willing to allow the new captain of the Enterprise to intrude upon his personal space. In fact, he had begun to welcome this physical closeness. Now, faced with the predatory light in Kirk’s eyes, the way Kirk’s lips drew back from his teeth, he instinctively retreated.

Spock’s back encountered hard metal. Kirk followed him all the way to the wall. Suddenly there was no space between them.

“Captain—” he began.

Kirk shoved his groin against Spock’s, the iron hardness of his erect penis pressing against Spock’s own genitals. Strong human hands grabbed his wrists, forcing his hands against the wall. Human fingers tightened, digging harshly into his flesh. Astonished to absolute stillness, for a moment entirely without thought, Spock stared into Kirk’s eyes, shocked at the primal emotions revealed on that expressive face. Beads of sweat dotted Kirk’s face. Spock suddenly wanted to lick the salt of that sweat from Kirk’s skin. Stunned by his own illogical desire, he kept silent. _The Captain is surely ill,_ he thought. _I will move him gently away and summon the doctor—_

Kirk laughed again and rubbed his body sensuously against Spock. Kirk’s mouth was open, eyes half-hooded with pleasure. Spock didn’t even think of moving when Kirk dropped his wrists, reaching instead to grab the back of Spock’s head, pulling his face forward and down. Kirk mashed his mouth against Spock’s, pushing against Spock’s lips with his strong, agile tongue.

Overwhelmed by Kirk’s scent, by the feel of that sweaty face pressed against his own, Spock’s mouth fell open, giving way to Kirk’s assault. Kirk’s tongue plunged inside, immediately exploring and claiming every bit of the opening he had just breached. The taste of the intoxicant Kirk had consumed exploded in his mouth. _Saurian brandy,_ the small shred remaining of Spock’s analytical mind informed him. _Just as McCoy had said._

Kirk thrust against him, grinding against his groin. White fire sheeted through him. His penis hardened instantly, his testicles already full and tight. Thinking became impossible; McCoy’s words meaningless. He struggled to breathe, but Kirk didn’t relent in his claim to Spock’s mouth.

Spock thrust back, helpless before his sudden need. His hands, discovering their freedom, reached to grab Kirk’s buttocks.

Kirk stilled, and pulled back fractionally. “Hands to the wall, Spock. This is for me.” He waited until Spock obediently pressed the palms of his hands flat against the cold surface, then pulled at Spock’s head, turning and angling it until he had access to Spock’s ear. He closed his lips on Spock’s earlobe. Spock shuddered as Kirk tongued a hot wet swath up to the very tip of his ear, then seized it with strong teeth and bit. Hard.

“Uhhh…” Spock jerked at the sharp hot pain, his penis pounding as the sensation triggered a flush of heat all along his body. Kirk pulled back and Spock felt a thin trickle of blood run down the outer edge of his ear. Dazed, he focused on Kirk’s mouth, saw Kirk lick his lips, lapping up an emerald droplet.

Kirk took a quick glance between their bodies, drew in a shuddering breath, and took a fraction of a step backward.

The loss of that touch, agonizing in its gift and then denial of pleasure, made Spock gasp in frustration. _Control_ , his brain insisted, but the sight of Kirk’s flushed sweaty face, as fevered as any Vulcan male in his Time, destroyed his resolve. He tried to remember that humans do not Burn, but Kirk’s touch was fire, his gaze was fire, as devouring as Vulcan flame. The thick smell of Kirk’s human arousal spoke to his own most hidden urges, his own desires now released and rampant, constrained only by the tightness of his trousers.

Kirk suddenly grabbed Spock’s testicles, roughly kneading them through the fabric. His other hand pressed against the length of Spock’s erection, pushing against it through his trousers. Spock’s breath came in shuddering gasps. He should put an end to this; something was terribly wrong with Kirk; it was his duty to ascertain the captain’s status. But words evaded him, and he saw by the light in Kirk’s hungry eyes that the Human understood his need all too clearly.

Kirk’s lips stretched into a feral grin. “Oh, you like this, don’t you?” One hand punctuated his words by rubbing the length of Spock’s trapped penis. “You do it on purpose, don’t you? Bending over your viewer, taunting me with that tight little ass.” His hand paused, then pressed against Spock’s erection, pushing it further against his belly. “I’d like to fuck you right there—bend you over the science console, rip off your trousers and shove my cock right up your ass.”

The pulse pounding in Spock’s penis screamed its need.  A groan escaped him. The sound surprised him, but control wasn’t even a possibility. Kirk’s hand had gentled and was now caressing up and down his length, sending flashes of ecstatic sensation directly to his brain. He pushed against that hand, desperate for more.

Kirk laughed, a dirty knowing sound. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? This—” He squeezed Spock’s cock, which throbbed with helpless eagerness. “—tells me how much you’d like that.” Kirk’s voice was ragged and uneven; Spock was aware that Kirk was now using his other hand to fondle his own genitals through his trousers. “I’ll do it, I’ll ream you good. You’ll scream for mercy as I fuck you right into that console. Now…” Kirk gasped, eyes hooded with pleasure. He pulled away from Spock and smiled into his eyes. “Now, you can suck me. Suck me off.”

Spock didn’t move, the clamor of his aroused senses warring with the alarm bells in his brain. “Captain—” He stopped, hearing the unevenness in his own voice, and fought to get his breathing and voice under control. His hands, pushed against the cold wall, clenched into fists.

“Do it now, Spock. That’s an order.”

Spock compressed his lips together, and ignored the insistent demands of his penis. He dug his nails into his palms. “Captain, we must discuss this atypical behavior. You are feverish. Dr. McCoy—”

Kirk’s face contorted, an ugly grimace of anger and rage. “On your knees!” He grabbed Spock’s arms, pulling him forward, simultaneously kicking out at Spock’s shins.

Spock jumped to the opposite side of the tiny space and turned, falling into a defensive crouch.

The comm unit sounded. “Mr. Spock.” Uhura’s voice came clearly through the speaker.

Kirk shuddered. He showed his teeth to Spock, then indicated the communications button.

Spock kept a careful eye on Kirk as he stepped to the unit. “Spock here.” His voice was steady.

“Dr. McCoy would like to confer with you in Sickbay.”

“On my way.” He switched off, and leveled his gaze at Kirk. He shoved down his body’s desperate need; he found the edges of his torn control and patched them seamlessly together again. “Sir. It would be best if you accompanied me there, as well.”

“I don’t think so. Deck Five,” Kirk said, and when the turbolift stopped, he grinned at Spock. “Better clean yourself up before seeing McCoy. Command 22-H.”

He stepped out and the turbolift door closed before Spock could follow. Then the turbolift, following its coded order, hurtled off to its new destination.

Spock knew there was nothing he could do to override Kirk’s command, not in the brief moments he had before the turbolift arrived at Deck 7 and Sickbay.

He licked one finger, and used it to rub the blood off his ear. The bite still stung; he did nothing to control the minor pain. He straightened his clothing and then focused his attention on redirecting blood flow away from his genitals, on moderating his breathing, on controlling his expression. When the turbolift door opened on the Sickbay level, he was to all appearances the controlled and efficient First Officer of the Enterprise. His calm face betrayed nothing, a perfect mask disguising the turmoil inside him.

He spent some seconds composing the words he would speak to McCoy, but found it astonishingly difficult to decide what needed to be said. It was a relief to realize that it would not be necessary to speak first; the doctor had requested this conference, after all. He would ascertain what subject the doctor wished to discuss, and then he would bring up his concerns about the Captain’s aberrant behavior and how they correlated with McCoy’s own observations.

The turbolift halted. The door opened. His physical and emotional responses under firm control, he stepped into Sickbay.

Moments later, after interviewing Geological Technician Fisher, and after seeing Janice Rand’s ravaged face and hearing her story, he realized with gratitude that it would not be necessary to discuss his own experience with Kirk.

Janice continued to sob quietly. He could smell the touch of Kirk’s hands and mouth against her skin. Emotions demanded entrance into his conscious mind. Anger. Jealousy. Need.

_You are not his,_ he thought. **_I_** _am._

Desire flickered along his nerves. He repressed a shudder. He had been Claimed. And Kirk had no idea what he had done.

 * * * * *

 “Thank you, Mr. Spock... from both of us.”

Kirk’s smile, directed at him, was a lure. He felt his control slip; he felt his lips curve into a slight smile—a shockingly public declaration of emotion. “Shall I pass that on to the crew, sir?”

“The impostor's where he belongs. Let's forget him.” Kirk took his place in the center seat.

Spock reminded himself of duty. There was much to be learned about transporter technology from the recent incident.  Perhaps he and Mr. Scott could collaborate on a scientific paper.

He moved to his station on the bridge and paused at the sight of his console. _‘You do it on purpose, don’t you? Bending over your viewer, taunting me with that tight little ass. I’d like to fuck you right there—bend you over the science console, rip off your trousers and shove my cock right up your ass.’_

The memory of Kirk’s words sent heat searing through his body. His skin suddenly knew how it would feel: to be bent over the console, pushed by Kirk’s hard hands, and the way his skin would press against the knobs and buttons, the feel of cold ship’s air on his buttocks and thighs as Kirk ripped his clothing from him, exposing him to penetration, and the way Kirk’s penis would shove inside his body, claiming every inch.

He repressed a shudder, and prevented his hands from closing into fists. Flame licked along his nerves, crackled along his skin and roared into surging life in his penis. His wrists, encircled in bruises from the pressure of Kirk’s hands, felt that touch again; his penis, now well acquainted with the length and hardness of Kirk’s cock, demanded that touch again.

He struggled for control. He turned and found Yeoman Rand nearby.

Kirk desired this woman. Kirk desired **him.** It was an—unusual experience—to discover what he shared with the Captain’s yeoman. He met her gaze. “The imposter had some interesting qualities, wouldn’t you say, Yeoman?”

He knew instantly by her hard angry gaze that he had erred in speaking of this. The words had escaped him; he had not intended to mention this subject again, much less to her.

He had, of course, known Yeoman Rand had not welcomed Kirk’s violent attentions. During their interview in Sickbay, his shields still weakened, he had not been able to protect his mind against her fear of Kirk, her revulsion for what he had done to her.

Yet every cell in his own body screamed out for more of the same treatment from Kirk.

His gaze returned to Kirk, lingering there. Yeoman Rand would doubtless assume that his words represented Vulcan insensitivity to human morés. He would not speak any more of it to her, nor would he offer her any explanations or apologies.

Kirk sat in the command chair as he always did. Spock’s gaze lingered on him, feeling the heat of desire flickering across his skin.

There were ceremonies on Vulcan, ways to deal with situations that should not occur, but nevertheless did. But in this impossible situation, those options were closed to him.

Desire. Spock swallowed, and looked back toward his console. But Rand was within his field of vision. She was staring at him, and there was new knowledge on her face.

He directed a hard glare directly into her eyes. She took an involuntary step backward.

He turned toward his console. _Control_. And yet his gaze kept returning to Kirk.

_Kirk desired him._

It was curious to note his own reaction to this knowledge. A complex array of emotions were struggling to find admittance to his mind. Astonishment? Disappointment? Kirk desired him—but might never, in his right mind, act upon that desire.

He would be grateful when this shift ended. He would require much meditation to put this experience behind him.

 

* * * * *

 

“You have the right to file charges against me.” Kirk’s face was as expressionless as that of any Vulcan as he contemplated Spock over the professionally tidy expanse of his desk, but the set of his shoulders and neck revealed his underlying tension.

“Sir, I do not wish to pursue any such action.”

He noted that Kirk’s respiration changed fractionally at his response, and that there was a slight relaxation in his posture.

“I offered Yeoman Rand the same opportunity. She also chose not to file charges.”

“That is a logical decision.”

“Is it?” Kirk moved restlessly; his gaze dropped to the desktop for a fraction of a second before returning to Spock’s face. “She’s uncomfortable around me now. I understand that. I hope that when some time passes she will feel she can trust me again.” He fell silent for a moment, and when he spoke again his voice held passionate intensity. “I don’t want the same thing to happen with you. I don’t want this to affect our working relationship. Our friendship.”

“It would be illogical to hold you responsible for actions which were beyond your control.”

“But I _am_ responsible. Spock… I remember everything.”

Spock tensed. Memory, merciless in its clarity, replayed his shameful lack of control of his physical responses to Kirk’s sexual advances. In his lap, his hands sought to form fists; he interlaced his fingers together instead.

Kirk didn’t seem to notice his lapse. “It’s as if I’m experiencing an odd type of double vision… If I focus on one ‘me’, the memories go in a straight line—but then a memory intrudes from my other ‘self’. It’s confusing at times—and then some of it is just a bit too clear.” Kirk’s lips tightened. “I learned things about myself that I don’t like at all. To be honest, I didn’t _learn_ anything that I hadn’t already known—but this experience forced me to confront these issues. And you… you learned things about me—things best concealed. Humans…” Kirk smiled, but the expression held irony and sadness, rather than humor or joy. “Humans keep a lot of ugliness hidden. Ugly thoughts. Ugly fantasies.”

“Sir. I am well acquainted with the necessity of keeping certain thoughts concealed.” A blush threatened to heat his face as his responses to Kirk, etched precisely into his memory, persisted in their uncomfortable reminders of his own needs. He focused on maintaining a regular blood flow; he prevented any trace of a blush from appearing on his face.

Kirk studied his face and nodded. “I want to assure you that you don’t need to fear such behavior from me in the future.

Spock swallowed and contemplated his folded hands for a moment. He identified the emotion that flickered across his consciousness: disappointment. He filed the emotion away. “On Vulcan, we do not speak of these things.”

Emotions raced rapidly across Kirk’s face, too quickly for him to identify. Kirk’s expression settled into professionalism. He stood, and Spock took that as a cue to stand, as well.

“Thank you for your trust.”

“Sir.”

A ghost of a smile touched Kirk’s lips, a shadow of its usual glory. “Do you have time in your schedule tomorrow for chess?”

“Yes, at 20:00 hours.”

“Rec Room 3, then.”

Spock permitted his facial expression to soften. “Affirmative.”

Kirk offered him a dazzling smile.

He nodded and left the room, a flood of relief releasing the tension he’d carried all throughout his body. Nothing needed to be said. Nothing would be said. All could continue as it had before.


	2. Chapter 2

_Green tinged the edges of his vision, focusing his attention on the scene before him._

_Strong hands digging into the flesh of straining shoulders. Naked flesh twisting and contorting. Arms grappling, buttocks flexing, legs striving for position. The tautly muscled back of one man rippling as he fought the other man for mastery. Faces, contorting into a rictus of agony and need. Teeth meeting in the other’s flesh. Streaks of green from furrows dug by fingernails, gashes torn by teeth. Darkening bruises everywhere. Dark hair, flash of pointed ears._

_Their genitals were enormous, penises rigid and distended with urgency; testicles straining with the fullness of their seed. The smell and stink of their blood and sweat and musk clogging the air, filling his lungs._

_He was peripherally aware of Sarek’s hand resting against his face, touching his consciousness in a surface meld, explaining and clarifying what he witnessed in this place of koon-ut-kal-i-fee._

_“They were unbonded. One has been Claimed, and in his arousal he fights for mastery of the other.”_

_The struggle continued, the two men fighting for dominance. One finally overpowered the other, shoving him down, forcing his legs apart. The defeated one keened as the head of the master’s enormous penis breached his rectum and sunk to its root inside his body._

_Sarek’s mind-voice was calm. “You see why we follow the ways of Tradition; why on the morrow your mind will be joined to that of T’Pring. Unbonded males present much danger to the community.”_

_Spock kept his curious gaze on the two men before him, who were now grunting as they copulated in the sands of the Place of Mating. The dominant one reached one hand around and gripped the other’s penis. The defeated one howled at that touch, and in that sound Spock heard victory._

_“But why are they unbonded?” he asked, his fascinated gaze on the urgency of the mating before him._

_“Not all follow Tradition.” He felt a quickly masked mix of emotions in his father’s mind. His own mind responded with an instant, immediately concealed sense of surprise and pleasure. His father did not possess perfect control, after all._

_Sarek’s disapproval flooded his mind. The image Sarek now presented to him was an orderly display of conquered emotion, a scientific array of alien objects, carefully labeled and put away as inconsequential._

_But he had seen each individual object his father possessed in his carefully organized archive; he had seen the marks of damage each bore. Damage his father bore._

_And his father saw that knowledge in him as well. He fought for further concealment; he focused all attention on the two men before him._

_Seetohn and Skeilahr were grunting their way to climax. He watched as each uncontrolled face bore expressions of need, of triumph, and then ecstacy._

_His own flesh did not understand._

_“When you Burn, T’Pring will be there to cool your Flame,” Sarek assured him. “You do not need to ever fear this. This secret thing you have been shown will never affect you.”_

Spock awoke suddenly, gasping for breath. His heart raced in his side, quickened far beyond its usual pulse. Unaccustomed sweat sheened every surface of his body.

His hand was shaking as he raised and pressed it to the feverish skin of his face. _This was impossible, and yet…_ T’Pring’s face was suddenly before him, her cool analytical gaze contemplating his suffering. But her image wavered; he grasped it desperately as it dissolved into the image of Kirk.

He probed at his link with T’Pring, and found it as it was always: weak, attenuated from distance and indifference. And something… something new overlay it.

He jumped from the bed and staggered against the partition, righting himself with difficulty. Shivering as the cool air touched his naked skin, he pulled his robe shut, horrified at every lapse and loss of control, grateful he was decently alone.

He fell to his knees before the fireshrine and struggled to compose his mind. _This is not the Fever. It cannot be._ Kirk’s mouth on his, Kirk’s groin against his was suddenly shockingly real. His eyes were open, his captain was not here, and yet his body was imprinted with every rough touch Kirk had granted him.

He stared down in numb disbelief. His robe, untied, had fallen open; his penis, rampant, rose before his horrified gaze. It demanded attention, touch; it needed— _he needed…_

He wrapped one hand around it and squeezed. Delighted pleasure shot through his nerves. He pressed harder until pleasure turned to pain, and yet his flesh still defied him.

Gasping, he snatched his hand away and clasped both hands behind his back. He focused his attention on the fireshrine, seeking for every shred of discipline that he had ever possessed. He could control this. He _must_ control this.

Sweat formed on his forehead, dripped down into his eyes. His penis urged his attention. He remained motionless, forcing himself to utter stillness even as his skin met the room’s coldness with his own interior heat. This should not be happening. Pon farr did not happen this quickly.

Yet, he had been Claimed.

He was aware when the captain entered his room through the connecting doors to their shared bathroom. His hands shook as he closed his robe, feeling the rough scratch of cloth against overly-sensitive genitals. He did not trust himself to stand, or even turn to face Kirk. He kept his gaze focused on the fireshrine.

His control fled when Kirk laid his hand upon his shoulder. He tensed at its gentle weight.

“You’re ill, Spock. I’ll call McCoy.”

“No.” Spock did not turn, did not stand. “He cannot help me.”

“I’ve damaged you, haven’t I?” Kirk’s hand tightened on his shoulder, then relaxed, gentling into a circular caress.

“Please…” He couldn’t continue, shocked at the sound of his own voice, like that of a stranger, so ravaged was it from his need.

Kirk’s hand paused, then withdrew. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to touch you. I felt something was wrong. I don’t know _how_ I knew that. I was reading reports and then—” Kirk’s voice was rough with regret and pain. “What have I done to you, Spock? How can I help you?”

He did not look at Kirk. He fought for every scrap of control he possessed; he attained his feet with an ease that belied his inner battle. “Please leave. There is nothing you can do.”

“That isn’t true.” Kirk’s voice held the certainty of knowledge.

Spock sought the refuge of the chair behind his desk. Kirk followed, placing his hands on the flat surface and leaning forward to study Spock’s face. Spock kept his gaze lowered, and yet he could sense Kirk’s warmth, inches away from his skin.

“What is it you—feel?” Spock asked hoarsely, and was instantly astonished by his own words, surprised that he hadn’t repeated his demand that Kirk leave immediately. That had surely been his intention.

“I felt…” Kirk moved away to sit in the chair opposite him.

Spock regretted those few extra inches of distance between them. His penis stabbed insistently at the cloth of his robe, desperate for Kirk’s touch. His hands craved contact with Kirk’s face; his fingers, concealed beneath the desk, insisted on forming the meld pattern.

_This is impossible,_ his mind insisted. _I am a Vulcan. I can control this._

“I felt a pulling—as if I needed to be here, with you. As if something was dreadfully wrong.” The silence grew between them, then once again Kirk leaned forward across his desk. “Look at me, Spock. What can I do to fix what I did to you.”

“We do not speak of these things,” Spock said, finding refuge in rote words.

“Yes. You said that before. And that would have been an end to it, and I was grateful. Grateful that nothing would change between us. But I was a fool to believe that. Because clearly things have changed.”

Spock stared at his trembling hands. The movement was involuntary, beyond his control. Kirk had not asked a direct question; there was no need to respond.

“Spock, we _must_ speak of these things.” Hard determination was in Kirk’s eyes.

Spock recognized the iron-hard will of the wolf, and something fierce flared in him in response. His lips felt numb. “I cannot, sir.”

A sigh escaped Kirk. “All right.” Kirk stood up. “I’m calling McCoy.”

“No!” He was on his feet as well; he had stepped around the desk and was staring down into the other man’s face before he realized that he’d moved.

Kirk stared right back. He hadn’t flinched or retreated an inch. Already, Spock knew the feel of his hands on this man’s flesh; already he knew the taste of his skin. “Please go.”

“You either tell me, or I call McCoy.”

Spock retreated. With one shaking hand, he settled himself back into his chair. Resisting the urge to bury his face in his hands; resisting the urge to seize this man, to invade his mind, to tear off his clothing, to plunder his body, he instead formed his hands into fists so tight the knuckles showed white.

“You have doubtless heard rumors about how Vulcans choose their mates.” He noted the flare in Kirk’s eyes, heard the quickening of his breath, smelled a burst of pheromones from Kirk’s skin.

“I don’t pay attention to rumor unless I need to. I prefer facts.”

“Facts,” Spock said bitterly. “The facts are this. Vulcan sexuality is cyclical, and violent. We bury this beneath Tradition; we fight it with logic; we deny it by not speaking of it. And yet, it is fact.”

Kirk was watching him patiently.

He swallowed and found the ability to go on. “It is called _pon farr_ , the time of mating. Approximately every seven Terran years, biological changes occur in the male which trigger the mating drive. The drive is—overwhelming, overriding all other motivation. The male is—stripped of his intellect, compelled to seek out his mate. The female is receptive, but not yet fertile. The matings would be considered—prolonged—even rough—by Terran standards. The accepted Terran standards. The prolonged matings are required to give the female sufficient stimulation in order to ovulate.” The realm of clinically precise language proved to be a refuge. It was to be regretted that his voice shook, that it betrayed emotion, but that could not be helped.

Kirk’s gaze did not reveal horror or disgust. Instead, he was gazing at Spock with understanding and concern. It was illogical to take Terran emotion, Terran reaction into consideration, but Kirk’s encouraging gaze made speaking of these matters easier.

“In pre-Surakian days, the demands of sexuality and the claiming of mates caused great chaos. There was much aggression, much territoriality. Vast portions of my world were laid waste by war. We constantly battle our own passions, our own aggression. Our mental techniques have succeeded in repressing our violent emotions, but there are still avenues in which the ancient drives emerge.” His voice had steadied.  He found some comfort, some ease in making this an intellectual exercise, in keeping his tone as dispassionate as if he were reporting on the biology of a newly-discovered species. “To control and channel these drives, it has long been tradition that most marriages on Vulcan are arranged by the Clan. There are certain groups that do not follow these traditions. In addition, widows and widowers may have second marriages arranged for them, or on rare occasions choose their own mate. My father was one such man.”

“These arranged marriages…” Kirk began.

“They are arranged in childhood. A Healer meets with the two children, and creates a mental link between them.”

“A mental link?”

“You are aware that Vulcans are telepaths.”

Kirk’s eyes widened. “Yes, I’d heard of that—”

“It is a limited ability—” Spock added quickly, cutting off Kirk’s words. He was cognizant of the fear many Humans evinced in the presence of telepathic species; he was deeply aware that he was speaking of many things which were forbidden to discuss with Outworlders. “A Vulcan must be in physical contact with another being in order to make mental contact.”

“And so… a boy and a girl are linked telepathically?”

“Yes. They may or may not see each other again until the Time of Mating. But at that time, when the male’s hormonal cycle awakens, they are drawn together. The male is then compelled to copulate.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

Spock squeezed his eyes tightly shut.

“What is it you’re not telling me?”

“This is nothing that should concern you.”

“Damnit, Spock, it does concern me. I started this.”

_Yes. You did._ Anger and lust rose in Spock in equal measure; he had to hold tightly to his chair to keep from leaping to his feet and taking Kirk right there.

“This is impossible. I have a wife, one already chosen for me.”

Kirk’s eyes widened in shock; a blast of Kirk’s emotions hit Spock’s skin like hot rain. Concern. Possessiveness. Lust. …love…

His voice unsteady, Spock continued. “My sexuality should be directed to her alone.” Spock swallowed, and suddenly T’Pring’s face was before him, not Kirk’s, and her face with filled with naked, shameful emotion. Anger. Rage.

He shivered, then flinched at the feel of Kirk’s hand touching his face. He looked up and found Kirk leaning across the desk, looking down at him, Kirk’s face inches away from his own.

He shoved his chair back, retreating from Kirk’s touch. Kirk dropped his hand to the desk.

“You’re burning up,” Kirk whispered. “Do you need her? Do you need to go to her?”

“It is you I need!” The words were out before he could prevent their utterance. In utter shame, he covered his face with his hands. “I beg you—leave me.”

“No. I’m not going anywhere, Spock. Not until I know what I can do to make this right.”

“If I were not bonded—” He took in a deep breath. “An unbonded male can lay Claim to another by laying hands on him in dominance. Sexual dominance. What you—what your other self did—is called the Claiming, when one male, already in pon farr, wishes sexual dominance over another. It triggers pon farr in the second male. The males then struggle for dominance, one over the other.”

“And I have done this to you.”

“It is not possible—should not be possible.”

“I did this to you,” Kirk repeated.

He bowed his head in defeat. “Yes.”

“But if you—already have a wife—”

Fever spiked, burning away rationality. He didn’t respond. There was no answer. He should only be able to respond to T’Pring. But Kirk’s energy had laid its own pattern down, encircling and enclosing and somehow superseding his link to T’Pring. Kirk had _Claimed_ him and done what was not possible to do.

There were no human words to explain this, so he remained silent.

Kirk was watching him intently. “I don’t fully understand, Spock. But it doesn’t matter. What do we do now?”

“Leave me.”

“And what will happen, if I leave you?”

He remained silent. Words of explanation refused to form; Vulcan needs prevented him from speaking any further. He could not beg further for privacy and silence when all within him screamed to seize this man and complete what Kirk had begun. But human softness, human emotion forbade those actions, and the war, the division within him left his voice and his flesh paralyzed.

“What happens if I leave you now, Spock?” Kirk’s voice was hard, demanding answers, demanding his obedience.

It was hard to breathe. “Lock me away. I will not be a danger to you.”

“Look at me, Spock.”

He did not reply.

“I’m going to make that an order. What is it you aren’t telling me?”

“The mating drive…” He felt a curiously weightless sense of calm as the words escaped him. “It is imperative. It must be fulfilled. Or the male dies.”

Again, he sensed the power of Kirk’s emotions—fear, astonishment, determination—and wondered at how quickly this telepathic link had formed between them, at how well he already knew this man who, just a few short months ago had been only a name in Starfleet records, an officer known to him only for the variety of his achievements at a very young age. The new Captain of the Enterprise.

And yet, caught in the grip of another fever only weeks ago, he had spoken words to Kirk—shameful words—words expressing a truth he already knew. “Jim... When I feel friendship for you I am ashamed.”

Friendship, yes. But on the bridge after the intermix formula had worked and the crisis was over, he had moved to stand by Kirk who was seated in his command chair. Janice Rand had stood by Kirk as well, mirroring in her body Spock’s own posture. They had looked at each other, their gaze meeting across Kirk’s seated form. He now recognized what had been plain on her face. Possessiveness. Rivalry. For this man.

How had this attachment happened? It had not been by any conscious choice or plan of his own, and of that, as of so many things, he was deeply ashamed.

“Spock… You already know I want you.” Kirk paused. “We haven’t known each other that long, but I already feel close to you. This imperative need… I did this to you. You can have anything—everything you need.”

Permission. This man, his to take.

His eyes were flame. His blood was flame. His genitals, painfully engorged, throbbed with their demand.

Growling low in his throat, he was out from behind the desk in an instant. Pressing his body against Kirk’s, he pushed him up against the bulkhead. Pinioning Kirk’s arms to the wall, he shoved his body against Kirk, pushing his swollen cock against the other man’s crotch.

“I need…” he gasped, but Kirk stood there passively, not resisting. Kirk’s eyes were filled with emotion—acceptance, concern, a hint of fear. But there was no _need_ in him. No lust. He was as cold as a Vulcan woman was cold before she Awakened. Yet, _Kirk_ had claimed him, _Kirk_ had initiated this, and he _needed_ the other man’s lust, needed it to find his own fulfillment.

He mouthed one of Kirk’s seductively rounded ears. Kirk sighed and pushed back against him, a slow, sensuous motion that teased without promise of satisfaction.

Too slow. Too gentle. Too human.

His needs were Vulcan. He must remember he was with a human. They mated more quickly and usually more gently than Vulcans. They had their own distinct biology. And yet there was sexual violence in them; he had seen it often enough, and Kirk had certainly demonstrated it to him.

He pressed his mouth against Kirk’s lips, and Kirk opened it willingly to him, moving into a lush and still-gentle kiss. Kirk’s tongue touched his seductively, a soft, light caress, and Kirk’s arms snaked around his in a careful, tentative caress.

He pulled back in frustration. This cautious human approach set his nerves on fire with a knife-edged yearning which promised no possible relief. And yet, how could he take what he needed from this man—this man, above all, who had shown him an understanding no one—Vulcan or Terran—had ever granted him?

He fought against the overwhelming urge to seize, to crush this smaller body against his, to force him down, to grasp and part his buttocks, to ram his cock deep inside—

With one last attempt at control, he tried to step away from Kirk’s gentle embrace.

Kirk settled one hand against the small of Spock’s back. With the other, he cupped Spock’s chin, downturning his face. Kirk ran a hand down the side of his face, then trailed his fingers through Spock’s hair. He leaned back toward Spock, finding and parting his lips with a tender kiss. Soft. Gentle.

Not enough.

Frustrated, Spock bit at the silken flesh of Kirk’s lip, tasting salt and the iron of human blood. Kirk gasped and jerked back. At the sight of pain on the other man’s face, he turned Kirk’s head and bit at a inviting human earlobe. He shoved his cock against the other man’s groin and grabbed at Kirk’s shoulders, his upper arms and hips, digging his fingers in deeply, meaning to bruise. Pain flashed across Kirk’s face at each rough touch.

It wasn’t enough. “Give me—” he choked on the words.

“Yes, Spock.” Kirk’s voice gently urged. There was no fear in Kirk’s eyes, but there was a trace of anger.

Spock felt himself smile. “Give me your mind.”

He saw shock in the human’s eyes. “I don’t understand.”

“You do. I told you. You do.” Spock realized he was barely coherent, the needs of the fever flaring in his body, the driving need in the heat and rock-hardness of his cock overriding thought.

“Whatever you need, Spock. Whatever you need.”

It was submission without struggle, surrender without battle. It could never fulfill his needs.

He hissed in frustration. Fever flashed through him, and without thought, he instinctively knew what he needed, what he _must_ have. What _this_ Kirk could not possibly give him.

His hands found the correct positions on Kirk’s face as if they had joined many times before now. Kirk’s crackling energy met him; the force of his personality whole and complete; a corona around a star, blazing in its intensity.

He knew how to look, how to see _beyond_ that brightness. There it was, the instinctive human fear of having their minds violated. It was mingled with an intricate web of emotion—concern and love and fear and anger and guilt—too complicated for him to decode or analyze.

He drilled past the surface emotion, ungently shattering the barrier to Kirk’s mind. Pain flared. Rationality fled. He saw what he needed. He _took._

The wolf was there, ready to meet him, eager to defeat his weak other self and reclaim the world.

It should have been difficult. It should have been impossible.

It took bare seconds. The wolf was right there beneath the surface, eager for life. Howling in triumph, the wolf surged toward him, and if there was any part of either them protesting this action, that part was cut off and walled away into silence.

Spock dropped his hands from Kirk’s face and stepped away, panting as if he’d just run a marathon.

Kirk bared his teeth in a ferocious grin. “I knew you wanted me. So you want to be fucked? ‘Claimed’, you call it? That’s easy to arrange. Take off your clothes. Or I’ll do it for you.”

“No. You displayed yourself to me earlier. I wish to see you again.” Spock reached out and ripped Kirk’s shirt off in one quick tear.

Kirk twisted, and dropped out of his reach. One quick roll on the cabin floor, then Kirk regained his feet beside the room divider. “Is that how you want to play this?” He took a fighting stance.

Green fever haze was blurring his vision. His field of vision narrowed to one welcome sight: Kirk’s erect cock. Its hard outline showed rampant beneath the tight black pants. Kirk exuded sweat and musk; Spock sucked in the smell, and it inflamed him further. His cock hardened past the point of pain. He threw his robe to the floor and leapt at Kirk, seizing him by the shoulders. Sweat slicked Kirk’s naked skin; Spock’s hands slipped down to his upper arms. He tightened his grip further. Kirk grinned at him, then mashed their bodies together, rubbing their cocks in a quick, ecstatic slide. Spock hissed as the fabric abraded his cock. He reached down to tear at the waistband of the human’s trousers.

Unexpectedly Kirk lunged forward and gashed Spock’s shoulder with his teeth. He grabbed for Kirk again, but the other man slid beneath his grip, hit the deck, rolled again, and came out behind him. Spock started to turn, but was instantly seized by the throat and the balls.

He froze, rational enough to know what he could not risk losing. Kirk’s breath gusted in his ear. “How do you want it? Hard and fast?” He shoved his groin against Spock’s naked ass. The rough texture of Kirk’s uniform pants rasped against his skin; the hardness of Kirk’s cloth-covered erection dug between his buttocks. He gasped and pushed back against that pressure. Kirk laughed.

“You’ll take it any way I want to give it to you.”

Kirk’s left hand tightened marginally on Spock’s throat, pushing against the blood vessels that lay so close to the surface. Dizzying sparks exploded behind Spock’s eyes. Kirk eased his grip on Spock’s throat.  His right hand squeezed Spock’s balls. Spock grunted and jerked at the touch, his nerves overloading with that message of pleasure/pain. Kirk’s grip softened into a caress, knowledgeable fingers rubbing and kneading the wiry hair, the soft skin, the hard full roundnesses beneath.

“Would you like me touch your cock?” Kirk whispered into his ear, simultaneously thrusting his hardness against Spock’s ass.

“Yes!” he hissed. Kirk’s fingers stayed on his testicles, tugging at them hard, harder. His fingertips strayed to explore their underside, stroking the tender flesh beneath. Spock tensed with the pleasure and the frustration of this teasing. Suddenly angry, he jerked forward, intending to turn and claim this human himself.

Kirk’s fingers closed threateningly on his balls. “Do what I tell you to. You won’t regret it.” Kirk’s voice was thick with arousal; Kirk’s impatience and need radiated to Spock through the contact of their skin.

With one quick movement Kirk seized Spock’s penis, already thick with its natural lubrication.

“How convenient,” Kirk said roughly, and Spock hissed as cool human fingers explored his length. “No need to waste time looking for lube. Shall I take you dry, Spock?” Kirk’s hand tightened into a fist and enclosed his cock with strong fingers. He pumped the rigid flesh strongly. Spock cried out his pleasure and ignored Kirk’s provocative words.

Kirk slowed a moment and trailed one finger up the underside of Spock’s cock. “I wonder what that tastes like?” He withdrew his hand, and Spock groaned. He could hear the human sucking his finger, and he thrust his hips forward in frustration.

“I like it.” Kirk’s arousal-thickened voice teased directly into his ear. “Would you like me to suck you off?”

“Yes.” Spock was ready to agree to anything.

“Not now. I want to fuck you first. Or maybe I want you on your knees in front of me, sucking me off.”

Spock disagreed with that course of action, but Kirk’s hands maintained their grip. He calculated the movements necessary to slip out of Kirk’s grasp; to turn the stubborn human around and tear away the obstructing cloth and sink his penis deep inside the other man’s body.

Action was ready to follow thought, but Kirk’s hand was back on his cock again, and he thrust forward into the strong grasp, again and again, mindless now in his need and the pleasure he was receiving. Kirk’s hand moved faster, harder, in time to the rocking of his hips.

Kirk’s hand paused on his cockhead; one finger pressed deeply behind the ridge then encircled the head. Fresh secretions emerged. Spock thrust blindly as questing fingers brushed the crown and found the slit. A hard fingernail pushed against the tiny entrance; a sharp brief pain.

Kirk’s hand retreated.  Still slick with the lubrication from his cock, Kirk’s fingers were suddenly probing between his buttocks. He instinctively bent forward slightly, allowing Kirk better access. Kirk’s hand found his opening and two slick fingers forced their way inside. He clenched against them, desiring even more of the new sensation.

Kirk’s other hand remained pressed to his throat. “You’ve been teasing me with that tight ass for too long now. Get down on your hands and knees for me,” Kirk ordered. He moved his fingers inside Spock.

Green flame flared across Spock’s vision. “Yes!” he hissed.

“Do it now. Do it, and I’ll make you come good.” Kirk punctuated his words with a thrust of his cock against one of Spock’s thighs. He scissored his fingers inside Spock’s body. “Obey me, Spock.”

“Yes!”

Kirk suddenly withdrew his hand from Spock’s body, squeezing one buttock in passing. He released his hold on Spock’s throat. “On your hands and knees,” he repeated.

Spock moved forward, then fell to his knees. His cock stabbed the air, demanding satisfaction. Kirk grunted in satisfaction, and as Spock bent over, he heard Kirk drop to the floor behind him.

He twisted and rolled away, easily evading Kirk’s grasp, and before Kirk could stand or roll away, he was around and behind him. Mockingly, he seized Kirk’s throat and balls, mirroring Kirk’s own actions.

Kirk froze, and in that instant Spock moved quickly, shoving one arm around Kirk’s waist, the other to his shoulders, and pushed him forward and down. Kirk caught himself with his hands. Spock seized his waistband and tore it, ripping it completely down the back, and shredded the cloth until it fell in pieces to the floor.

Kirk was still trying to move. Spock bent over Kirk’s back, hissing as his cock rubbed against Kirk’s sweat-slicked skin, and whispered in the enticing round ear. “Be still, or fight me, your choice.”

He heard Kirk laugh, and that inflamed him. His hands parted the inviting buttocks, exposing the orifice. He grabbed his cock, positioned it, and in one motion shoved the head into the hot tight channel.

Kirk screamed and than began spewing out a torrent of profanity. Deaf to the words or meaning, Spock thrust again, penetrating further into the alluring body beneath him. He rocked back, thrust again, hard, harder, until his slick cock penetrated Kirk’s ass all the way to the root. Kirk bucked beneath him, then settled his weight on one arm, reaching out with the other. Not caring what Kirk’s intent was, Spock grabbed his wrist and held it still. He kept fucking, each strong stroke inside the hot tight channel sending singing waves of pleasure through his body; each pull back promising more of the same.

“Fuck you, Spock!” Kirk’s muttered obscenities, Terran sexual words of threat and pleasure and violence, inflamed him further. He kept up the strong thrusts. Kirk’s arm jerked within his grasp; distracted, he let it go, realizing a moment later that Kirk had taken hold of his own cock and was pumping it strongly.

He bent over Kirk’s back, stilling for a moment, as he used one hand to capture Kirk’s balls. “Let go.” He tightened his grip.

“Fuck you, Spock,” Kirk said, but dropped his hand back to the deck, using it to support his weight again. Spock snaked his hand around Kirk’s organ, encircled it and then began pumping it strongly. What did it look like, in its arousal? He longed to see it, to taste it. Kirk’s cock was hard and even larger than his own organ. Cooler than his own skin and so oddly dry; the moisture from its tip and human sweat its only lubrication. He imagined that hardness inside himself, and shuddered and thrust again in time to the motion of his hand on Kirk’s cock.

“Yes! Fuck me!”

In the light from the fireshrine, Kirk’s sweat-streaked body gleamed, flushed with blood from exertion and lust. Beautiful. Beautiful. Kirk was groaning in pleasure now; that, paradoxically, filled him with a sudden flash of rage. Kirk had created this fire in him; he should suffer it himself.

He pulled Kirk’s cock one last time and then rocked back, concentrating on his own pleasure.

“Goddamnit, Spock!” Kirk instantly reached to touch himself, but Spock grabbed his wrist again, imprisoned it bruisingly, and focused on his own pleasure.

Thrust. Thrust. Rock back and thrust, enjoying the tight clenching of Kirk’s ass against his fevered cock. His balls slapped against Kirk’s buttocks with every stroke. It went on and on and on, endless mindless fucking. He reveled in it, reveled in the body bent beneath him. _Mine. Mine!_

Kirk was still ranting, cursing the pain and his own unfulfilled need. Spock ignored him. The pressure was building, intolerable, painful. Sweat dripped from his body, falling upon the human struggling beneath him, mingling with human sweat. He bent forward and then the pressure rose, crested to intolerable heights, flashing through his body in a blind streak of mindless ecstasy. Breath escaped him in a sobbing keen as he thrust one last time; cum shooting deep inside Kirk’s body.

As the last spasms took him, still hard, he pulled out of the other man’s body, rocking back to settle on his heels.

Kirk was suddenly on his feet, glaring down at him. “You owe me for that.” The human smelled of their mingled sweat, of his semen, and of Kirk’s sexual musk. The huge human erection bobbed in front of his eyes.

His mouth ached for the taste and bulk of that cock. “I am here, on my knees for you. As you wished.” Fire still danced along his skin; the fever blazed, with its own logic, its own imperative. He had had the first satisfaction; he now could give. He opened his mouth and Kirk shoved his cock inside.

He nearly choked and then caught the rhythm; Kirk’s desires transmitting instantly through his skin to Spock’s instincts, without troubling the surface of his mind. He _knew_ what to do, using tongue and suction.

Hot wetness exploded down his throat. Kirk made a keening sound; his hips stuttered in a broken rhythm, his hands dug harshly into Spock’s shoulders. Spock swallowed the hot liquid, swallowed again, his throat muscles working around the softening cock.

“Goddamnit, too soon.” Kirk withdrew his softening cock from Spock’s mouth. He kept his grip on Spock’s shoulders. “Stay on your knees,” Kirk warned.

He looked down at Spock. Spock tilted his head back to meet Kirk’s gaze.

Kirk looked lower, at Spock’s still-hard cock. He grinned, fell to his knees and rubbed a thumb across the cockhead. Spock gasped at the light touch and thrust forward.

“I’m glad you’re still hard. I’m going to fuck you, you know. Tell me how much you need it,” Kirk said, and wrapped his hand around Spock’s slick penis and pulled.

Spock could not say the words; his flesh had already made his answer. His mouth fell open; he struggled for breath. Kirk withdrew his hand and Spock moaned, a helpless sound.

“Touch yourself. I want to see you,” Kirk said.

“It’s not enough,” Spock said, but obediently he wrapped his hand around his own erection and rubbed.

It increased the ache without holding out any promise of fulfillment. Kirk watched him in silence, their combined sweat and musk filling Spock's nostrils. He was in desperate need again, and Kirk still watched.

“Go lie on the bed,” Kirk ordered. At the tone of command in Kirk’s voice he obeyed, going down onto his hands and knees, presenting his buttocks for Kirk’s use. His cock stabbed at the empty air.

“No,” Kirk said, “Lie on your side.”

Confused, Spock did so, and Kirk spooned behind him. He snaked one hand around and grabbed Spock’s penis. “I’m not ready yet—but I will be.” Kirk pumped him hard, again and again, and he thrust into that tight grip, lost in sensation, in the hard pull back and forth.

Kirk’s breath was becoming uneven; he felt the human organ swell and lift, rubbing at his buttocks. He moved, trying to give the human access, but groaned in frustration when Kirk took his hand from his cock.

Kirk, impatient, rose to his knees. “Roll over. Give me your ass.”

Spock hastened to comply. He could feel Kirk tugging at his own penis, and then two cool hands grabbed his buttocks and parted them. The cockhead, slick with the fluid Kirk had rubbed from Spock’s cock, snubbed against his opening. Kirk grabbed Spock’s hips and held him tightly, then thrust forward, the head entering the tight channel.

The sensation was startling. There was pain, but it fueled his own need, and when Kirk thrust again he pushed back. Suddenly he was opened all the way, stretched wide to accommodate Kirk’s bulk. Kirk rocked back, thrust forward, and something else opened inside him, a nerve cluster of pure pleasure exploding, hardening his cock past any previous pain or pleasure.

Kirk’s hand was on his cock again, and he thrust greedily and mindlessly into that fist while Kirk continued to breach his body, filling him, possessing him, claiming him.

Kirk was grunting out eager obscenities; Spock was answering with Vulcan words, fucking and being fucked, thrusting into that exquisite, agonizing touch, and everything was building, building, his balls full to bursting and so tight, his cock rigid in its need, and Kirk’s hand slick upon him, and Kirk’s cock huge inside him touching that place inside him over and over. Then Kirk found the right, the perfect angle and screamed out his own pleasure as the ecstasy peaked and whited out his mind in the spasm and jet of his seed in Kirk’s still pleasuring hand.

“ _Yours,”_ he gasped and fell forward to the bed. He was dimly aware of Kirk dropping down beside him. Long moments passed where brief fever dream images chased themselves through his mind, too ephemeral to remember.

Collapsed in the aftermath of ecstasy, Spock was aware when his mate moved as if to escape. Rolling onto his side, he caught Kirk’s wrist in one powerful hand.

Kirk twisted into his grip, not away. He gave Spock a persuasive smile, a smile Spock had already catalogued as one Kirk used to manipulate his enemies into doing what he wanted them to do.

“It’s better this way, isn’t it?” Kirk’s voice was charming, seductive. “ _We’re_ better this way.” He moved sensuously against the bedding and looked at Spock from beneath half-lowered eyelids. “There’s no reason why we can’t go on—just like this. Neither of us needs the other one. He’s weak. We’re strong. We’re strong together.” With his free hand, he carded his fingers through Spock’s chest hair, finding and circling one nipple, urging it to erection.

Spock caught his breath, but the physical sensation did not obliterate his dawning realization of the magnitude of what he had done. The remnants of fever were still present, speaking their own persuasive words. He had taken what he needed, in the way he needed it. Reason had burned away in those flames; illogic reigned. Rationality without the spur of emotion seemed meaningless. He could sense the presence, though, of guilt and shame, honor and duty, ready to punish him when he was at last able to acknowledge his transgression.

Kirk’s eyes and skin seemed to glow, the crackling fire of his vitality uncontainable within his flesh and bone. Spock had sought to make something this beautiful and bright _his._

_No._ He had not sought to sully Kirk with his touch, and yet what was Kirk’s beauty, this brightness but the sheen of the hard lethal steel beneath, the amoral wolf? Wolves howl, and all males follow their oldest instincts.

Kirk had triggered this desire in him. But he knew the truth. His desire could not have flamed so brightly if it had not already existed, buried and dormant, and yet still present, ready to ignite at a single touch of this man’s hands.

Kirk moved suddenly to straddle Spock’s torso. Spock, still languid, still gripping Kirk’s wrist, stared at the human’s flaccid organ, which was now resting upon Spock’s belly.

Kirk looked at him speculatively. “You’re still hungry.”

His organs did not so much as twitch, so completely drained were they, and yet a new need flared inside him. Kirk smiled, and Spock averted his face from the knowledge in those beautiful, cunning eyes.

“What do you need, Spock?” Kirk licked his lips. “I can give it to you.”

“It is very shameful, what I desire.” It was a hoarse whisper; he immediately wanted to deny the words.

Kirk grinned. “No, it isn’t. Shame is _illogical._ ” His words were knife cuts. “You don’t show it, but you’re a slave.You let others rule you. Who cares what Vulcan thinks? You left, didn’t you? I know what you need. We both do. Fuck Vulcan.  Fuck being ashamed of what you feel. Stop thinking and just let yourself _feel_.” He stretched provocatively and thrust his hips; the motion chafed Spock’s skin. Kirk’s previously-limp penis was beginning to stir. “Take what you need.” Kirk bent forward, supporting himself with one hand, not even attempting to break Spock’s grip on his other wrist. He moved his face to within bare inches of Spock’s own and stared into his eyes. “Ask for it.” He licked his way along the curve of one ear, and then laid a wet trail along Spock’s throat. “Beg for it.”

_Take what you need…_

With his free hand, Spock reached up to touch Kirk’s face. Kirk smiled in triumph an instant before realization hit.

The wolf struggled with rabid ferocity but Spock already knew the way inside Kirk’s mind from his previous penetration. Kirk’s mind opened to him, Spock breaching his barriers with at first force and then with tenderness. He knew that beneath that violent surface was a pure calm peace. He knew the truth of what the wolf would deny; he knew the lamb waited patiently beneath the tides of surface desire.  He knew what he now desired. His long-buried pain demanded its own fulfillment. 

Howling, the wolf slashed out, ripping at his mind even as Kirk’s hands became talons, tearing at his body. He subdued him with ease, by far the master here. Kirk’s crude untrained mental struggles proved he lacked the knowledge of how to combat this type of invasion. He thrust the wolf away from him, unable to deny what he yearned for now: what the gentle Kirk offered without condition or judgment. Desire masked his unworthiness; recklessness drew him along the precipice of pain. He did not fall into that abyss; it would wait, patiently, for later. He saw the lamb now, an image in the distance, his purity almost too terrible to contemplate.

He reached out and brought the lamb to life.

Kirk smiled. He stood over the body of the rabid beast which lay crouched at his feet, panting and sucking in air in vast gulps as if these desperate breaths could grant one more instant of light. Of life.

The mind insisted on its own imagery; insisted on depicting the corona of energy that blazed once again around Kirk as a brightness beyond bearing. The lamb smiled again, and the wolf vanished into some subterranean blackness.

Spock’s numb hands fell away from Kirk’s face.

Kirk collapsed heavily upon him, and Spock welcomed his weight. Kirk’s head had fallen to where it was nestled against Spock’s shoulder. Spock moved his head to look directly into Kirk’s face.

Kirk’s every breath ghosted across his skin. Every exhalation became Spock’s inhalation, breath to breath, synchronized now, in tandem, harnessed, tied and bound together. Spock marveled at the way the dim cabin light picked out the gold highlights in Kirk’s hair. Kirk opened his eyes, and Spock reveled in the intricacy in the coloring of the irises, the way intelligence and emotion flowed back into those eyes. Kirk’s eyes contained the universe; the revelation as new as if he’d never seen this before.

The sexual heat had vanished from Kirk’s face, the calculating manipulativeness was gone, now replaced with an infinite understanding. And love. It was so easy to interpret human expressions. Love.

Spock shuddered before this new knowledge.

Kirk had moved to lie beside him and was watching him, a complex and wholly desirable range of feeling revealed by his expressive face. Unable to close his eyes against the compassion and caring and love revealed in Kirk’s face, he could not deny what he saw. He found he desired that as much as he desired this man’s flesh. Kirk’s lavish and open emotions lured him as inexorably to his own destruction as the gravitational well of a black hole, Kirk’s openness a temptation and a lure to wallow in the expression of his own repressed and stunted emotions.

Kirk reached out and gently caressed his face. “It’s all right, you know. What you need. It’s what we all need. Someone to care for us. Someone to love us, and let us know we are not alone.”

He swallowed and remained still, dazed at the knowledge of what he had done.

“Don’t be ashamed of what you feel.” Kirk bent forward and pressed a gentle kiss against his closed lips. Spock’s hands clutched convulsively at the bedding.

“You don’t need to say anything,” Kirk whispered. “I’ll say it for you.” Kirk gathered him into his arms and gently rolled him to his side and pulled him close. Spock’s left arm wound around the human waist; he rested his head against Kirk’s neck and shoulder. Kirk began stroking his hair with one hand, the other arm tightened around Spock’s back. With effort, Spock relaxed by slow degrees into the succor of those arms, allowing himself to rest in the comfort of that embrace. He buried his face against the smooth hardness of Kirk’s shoulder.

He wanted to laugh. He wanted to weep.

He did neither.

“It’s all right.” Kirk’s hand moved in soothing circles on his back. Each separate touch of each fingertip sliding against his skin communicated the strength of Kirk’s emotions. Greedy, he drank it all in, every starved unacknowledged forbidden need demanding—receiving—fulfillment.

“I love you,” Kirk said, and Spock fought against the tremors that threatened to wrack his body, fought against the tears that threatened to escape his eyes at the understanding in Kirk’s voice, at the love—directed to him. “I’ve been falling in love with you from the moment we met. You know that. Just hold on to me. It’s all right.”

Spock fought his reactions. He failed. “It is a weakness,” Spock whispered. “I should not have done this.”

He shuddered as Kirk kissed him again, a soft, chaste pressing of lips against his forehead, his cheek, his closed mouth.  “It’s all right,” Kirk repeated.  “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Spock looked directly at Kirk’s face. There was no judgment in Kirk’s gaze. There was acceptance. Love. Understanding.

He found the courage to reach out, to stroke Kirk’s hair with a caress as gentle as Kirk’s own, to move closer, to brush his lips against Kirk.s

Then, unable to bear the honesty in Kirk’s gaze when he had nothing of comparable value to offer, he closed his eyes.  But when he shifted, preparing to move away, Kirk tightened his grip.  “Please stay.”

He relaxed into Kirk’s embrace, enjoying the loving words, the gentle caresses, the soft kisses for many long minutes before rolling away. Facing the wall, he curled into a tight ball, and fought against any further expression of emotion, of pain. Of love.

He flinched when Kirk gently touched his forehead.

“Your fever has broken,” Kirk whispered and withdrew his hand. “What will you do now?”

Spock uncurled himself from his knot of pain. He did not turn to look at Kirk. He stared into the room’s emptiness. “What I have done is unforgivable.”

“I forgive you.”

Kirk’s gentle words were like a goad. Spock got up and headed toward the darkness of the open door between their quarters. “You say that now, but you will not when you are yourself again.”

“I need you… I’m only beginning to realize how much. Don’t leave me.” Kirk had followed and now moved to stand in front of Spock, his back to that open door. He trailed his fingers along Spock’s face and made a shaky sound. “We haven’t known each other that long, but already I feel close to you. Fascinated by you.” He paused at Spock’s lack of response. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned my feelings.

“This is not my way.”

“No. Not love. Not even friendship.” Kirk’s face held an infinity of sorrow. “But you do feel—something for me. Friendship. You admitted it yourself.”

Spock made a rueful sound low in his throat. “Friendship, yes. But I have transgressed our friendship, and betrayed my bond with my wife. I cannot forgive myself. It would be best if I resigned.”

“Spock.” There was raw pain in Kirk’s voice. “Find a way. We’re good together—there’s no limit to what we can achieve. Don’t deny Starfleet your talents; don’t deny me the best officer I’ve ever had. I promise you, I will forgive you. And understand. You forgave _me_. You understood.” He seized Spock’s hand and pressed it tightly. “You said it yourself—we do not speak of these things.”

“We will both know. How can we be at ease with each another again?”

“You weren’t in your right mind.  How can I fault you for something you aren’t responsible for? If there’s any blame to be had, blame me. I caused all of this.”

“You could not prevent what happened—“

“Precisely.  From what you told me about pon farr, neither could you.”

Spock shuddered against the note of hope in Kirk’s voice.  There was a human word—absolution. Kirk was offering him a gift, a value beyond measure.

“We’re stronger together than apart.” And there it was, all of Kirk’s charm and persuasiveness, now fueled by love and caring and concern instead of selfish desire. “I don’t know how you—did what you did. But you were willing to stay after I—assaulted you. You’re denying me the same choice. If I can live with what I did to you—can you live with what you did to me?”

Spock pressed his eyes tightly shut; but Kirk trespassed anyway, taking him back in his arms. “Please, Spock. This is your home. Please stay.”

He leaned into Kirk’s embrace, allowed the human to caress his hair, his back, his arms. He did not permit himself tears.

Kirk kissed him again, an infinity of love and tenderness and understanding in that one gesture. He opened his mouth to the gentle touch; he let his mouth hunger against Kirk’s for one moment longer.

“I wish this had never happened,” Kirk whispered. “Any of it. I wish there was some way to change it all. I promise you, I’ll forget everything if you stay. It will be as if it never happened.”

He must undo this all. He must commit the crime that Kirk all unknowingly asked him to do. And then he must acknowledge and bear his responsibility; he must deal with his errant emotions, his weaknesses.

“Stay.” Kirk’s gaze searched his face.

His attraction to Humans—to this Human—ran like a swift current below his calm surface. That was where his needs must stay, denied, buried deep beneath the surface, from now on throughout his life. He would reconcile himself to the fact that what he needed and what he would permit himself to have would always lie in parallel, without even the illusion of meeting at some further distant point.

“Yes,” he replied.

His hand, of its own volition, found Kirk’s face again, settled into a now well-known pathway.

The connections were there, yearning for their proper configuration. The wolf and the lamb, despite their surface desires for separate existences, were rooted together. He removed the artificial barrier between them, and the linkages reformed and became inextricable, forming one undivisible whole.

That task complete.   One thing yet to be done—one commitment to be fulfilled.  All the ancient prohibitions reared up, condemning him for the action he was about to take.

He found the strength to do what must be done. The surface memories were new, and easily destroyed.  It was easy to implant the necessary suggestions. 

“Forget,” he whispered.

In an instant, it was done. Kirk stood before him, only the motion of his breath animating his body, his eyes quite blank.

In silence, he cleansed Kirk, washing the other man’s body as if it were some android, some robot devoid of programming. With the aid of a first-aid medikit from the stores in their shared bathroom, he erased the traces of their passion from Kirk’s body. His own body, he left marked.

Kirk watched him closely, but without understanding.

“Good night, sir,” Spock said, when at last all was done.

Kirk nodded and went through into his own quarters. The door slid shut behind him.

Kirk would, Spock knew, fall into a deep sleep, and when he awoke he would remember nothing of what had happened.

All trace of the fever had departed from his body. His skin was chilled; he welcomed the cold. A wave of utter exhaustion washed over him. He set it aside.

He dialed down the temperature to human norm. And then below.  Cold air blasted into the room. Naked, he fell to his knees on the metal deck before the fireshrine. He would neither sleep nor move from this position tonight.

He resisted the temptation to reach out for Kirk’s mind. The link Kirk had forced upon him now overlay the one he had with T’Pring. He must root it out. He must destroy it.  He would spend time every night repairing his bond with T’Pring until it was true and sure and strong and she alone could fulfill his need when his Time came upon him again.

He resisted the dark pull of the emotions of grief, of guilt, of shame. He had erred in every possible way, and yet Kirk had given him a task to perform.  He would fulfill this duty.

He must keep his word to Kirk. He was quite aware that his word also reflected his own desires. Nevertheless, he would attain both goals.

Finally, the habits of discipline proved to be his salvation. He attained the first level of meditation, and as the hours passed, progressed ever deeper, until his unfailing timesense warned him it would soon be time to prepare for the start of his next shift.

As he emerged from his trance, his skin icy from the chilled air, suddenly one image presented itself to him in great clarity

He had seen this in Sarek’s mind, all those years ago—an orderly display of conquered emotion, a scientific array of familiar objects, carefully labeled and archived, hidden from view.

But each individual object showed clear marks of damage.

Damage that Spock himself now bore. Had always borne.

It had always been easy to assign blame for his failings to the conflict and division between his Terran and Vulcan sides. The truth—obscured, unspoken of, barely thought—whispered instead that it was the divided Vulcan within him, the ferocious le-matya clawing at the calm civilized Surakian veneer, the primal Vulcan animal that lusted and took what it needed—body and mind and soul.

Mapping out the fault lines in his soul, he acknowledged one more fracture had been added to the pattern.

It was not possible to assign the blame for his actions to his human side. This was Vulcan emotion. This was Vulcan weakness.

This was heresy.

“We do not speak of these things,” he whispered to the empty room.

He rose and began his preparations for the coming day.

 


End file.
